


Dean and Cas

by CausticCupcake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1521938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CausticCupcake/pseuds/CausticCupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little bits of Destiel fics just 'cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Babe

Dean Winchester did not say "baby", nor did he say "sweetie" and he definitely didn't use that phrase, the one 3-word-sentence that would make his heart palpitate just thinking about it. Sure, there had been a time when he would call women he was trying to pick up by cute little pet names: sweetheart, sugar, darlin'. But he had long since grown out of it, left that younger and in a lot of ways happier Dean behind and turned into a bitter middle-aged man. 

"Is there anymore coffee, babe?" He had asked so nonchalantly, so relaxed, as if he called his boyfriend 'babe' all the time. He froze, realizing what had just tumbled out of his mouth. Sam choked on his toast and Cas raised tide-pool colored orbs to his hunter. Dean could feel the blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. He did NOT just say that....

"Did you just call me 'babe', Dean?" The former angel asked quietly, those blue eyes burning a hole into the side of Dean's head. 

He shifted uncomfortably and raised his eyes to Cas. "Uhm... yeah. Sorry." 

An easy smile broke across Cas' lips, his eyes glittering the way they did when something truly touched him. "I like it." He said quietly before pressing a kiss to his lover's temple. 

Dean couldn't help but smile as Sam faked a gag, all parties returning to their breakfast. He poured himself a second cup of coffee, silently vowing to call Cas whatever he wanted until he was in his grave.


	2. Forever

"How long have we known each other?" The former angel asked his hunter.

It was a Saturday and they were having a particularly lazy and love-making-filled morning. They were currently tangled in the sheets naked, Cas' head resting on Dean's chest, his hand playing with the occasional amber curls. Dean's arm pressed the angel close, their legs entwined, his hand absently rubbing at the back of Cas' head. 

Dean swallowed, nervous. This was one of those loaded-question type situations. 

"Cas, if I forgot some kind of anniversary or something--"

His angel chuckled into his chest, kissing his pectoral in a mindless display of affection.

"Nothing like that, Dean." He said, a smile in his voice. Dean relaxed some. "I was just wondering how long you think we've known each other."

Dean thought about the question a moment, his calloused hands making long strokes up and down his angel's back. Occasionally he'd bury his lips in the angel's hair, press them to his temple. "I guess forever." He said between kisses.

Cas considered his answer a moment before opening his mouth to ask his hunter another question. He was quickly cut short though, his mouth currently being devoured by Dean's. The taller man pulled Cas on top of him, grinding his hips against the other's while simultaneously licking the seam of his lips, causing a moan. 

"I'll love you forever, too." He whispered before crashing their lips together once more, starting their third session that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their record is 5 times in one morning, but who's counting?


	3. Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gives Cas a middle name.

"Dean Jacob Winchester."

Cas had taken to using Dean's full name when he least expected it. It had been so long since he had heard it, he had almost forgotten it existed. However, a few months ago he had shown Cas where he kept all of their important documents--Social Security cards, birth certificates, even an old Passport of Sammy's when he had entertained the idea of going backpacking for a semester. The ex-angel was tracing the outlines of the hand and footprints on Dean's birth certificate, smiling softly, his eyes twinkling. "It's amazing you were so small once." He whispered, his eyes not leaving the dark ink. Dean rolled his eyes at his sentimental angel and continued to sift through the papers. 

Their high school diplomas, the letter that said Sammy had gotten into Stanford, a picture of them with their dad at Sammy's high school graduation. There was a faded copy of the program from the school play Sam was in once--Our Town. He had played the leading role, gotten a big picture of himself in the program and everything. Dean smiled as he remembered how he made out with the drama teacher one night while waiting around for Sammy to finish up rehearsal. 

"Who was Jacob?" Castiel asked softly, running index finger across Dean's name on his birth certificate.

"What?"

"This document. It says your name is Dean Jacob."

Dean smiled at Cas, at the slight tilt of his head, at the inquiry in his eyes. "Jacob is my middle name. Don't use it much. Mom used to only say it if I was in trouble." 

"You can remember that far back?"

Dean nodded. "When it's memories of her, definitely. Other stuff not so much."

Cas scowled at the paper he was holding so delicately in his hands and finally looked up at Dean. "I don't have a middle name."

"Well I guess now that you're human, you should pick one, huh?" 

Cas considered Dean's statement, gingerly putting the paper back in the box Dean had pulled from the top shelf in his closet. He turned to his lover and drew him closer, suddenly feeling the need for his solid frame. "I want you to pick it." He said as Dean wrapped his arms around him.

"Me? Why?"

"Because."

"I'll just pick something stupid."

"But you'll have picked it." Cas said so seriously that Dean couldn't help but smile. "Please?" He pressed.

Dean smiled. "Okay." He said, hoping that his angel would forget by dinner time. 

But of course, he was Castiel, so he didn't forget. In fact, he brought it up again while they were doing the dishes together ("Really Dean, I want you to pick one out for me.") and again while he was leaned over the sink, brushing his teeth ("Why'nt yew taky'me seriously?") and again the next morning while pouring Dean a cup of coffee ("Did you have any ideas come to you in your sleep?"). Exasperated but more than a little amused, Dean finally set to work, making a list of all the male names he knew of--minus the ones who currently resided in the bunker. Twenty minutes later, he handed the list over to Sam to look at.

"Dude." The younger Winchester said, rolling his eyes. "These all suck."

"I know, Sammy!" Dean snapped, yanking the paper out of his brother's hands. "None of them are good enough, but I can't think of anymore."

"Have you looked on the internet?" 

Dean's mouth fell open. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that. He quickly shoved Sam out of his seat in front of the laptop and expelled him into a different part of the bunker--probably the library (nerd). He spent the rest of the afternoon scrolling through lists and lists of names, their lineage and their meanings. By the time he heard Cas working on dinner in the kitchen, he had decided on one. 

Dean stretched and headed for the kitchen, being greeted by a lively "Hey!" from Cas as he crossed to the fridge for a coke. Dean padded over to his angel at the stove and wrapped his arms around his waist. 

"What're you working on?" He said, resting his chin on Cas' shoulder. "Smells really good."

"Stir fry. It's almost done." Cas said absently, frying up strips of pepper and onion. 

Dean grabbed a spatula from the ceramic pot they kept all the kitchen utensils in and grabbed Cas' hand. "Turn around."

Cas did as he was told, facing Dean. "Get down on one knee." Cas gave him a questioning look but lowered himself down to one knee. "Good." Dean cleared his throat but was having trouble keeping the grin off his face. 

"Dean, what are you doing?" Cas asked sounding a little annoyed. 

"I'm knighting you. I picked out your name. Now quiet, I gotta think of what to say." 

"Dean, dinner--"

"It'll only take a second, feather-butt. Shh." Dean looked up to the ceiling to compose himself and decided to keep it short and sweet. He cleared his throat once more and Cas rolled his eyes but grinned. "I, Dean Jacob Winchester, do bequeath thee--"

"Do you even know what that means?" Cas interrupted. 

"Shut up, I know words. God, now I lost my place. I'll have to start over." Cas couldn't help the giggles that shook his shoulders. "Anyway, I, Dean Jacob Winchester, do bequeath thee, Castiel Novak, with a middle name. A middle name which is--drum roll please, Ethan. It's Hebrew and it means strong. So um, now you're Castiel Ethan Win--I mean Novak." Between sentences Dean had moved the spatula from one shoulder to the other, knighting his angel like he had seen on TV. 

Cas turned his deep blue eyes up to Dean as a beautiful smile broke across his face. Dean offered him a hand and helped him up. Cas stared at Dean, something a little more complicated shifting behind his eyes. He placed his hands on either side of Dean's face and kissed him tenderly, saying everything he didn't know how to voice in the action. Finally he pulled away, both of the men's heads spinning. "Thank you, Dean. It's perfect." 

"Is something burning--oh, sorry." Sam said, entering the kitchen and then covering his eyes. 

Cas jumped and darted to the stove where his peppers and onions where burnt to a crisp. He removed the pan from the burner and stared down at it forlornly. Dean couldn't help but chuckle at the expression on his face. "Looks like we'll have to order a pizza, huh, Sir Castiel Ethan." Dean said softly. Cas beamed at his lover's use of his middle name. 

"I'll go get the menu, Dean Jacob." Cas said, bouncing out of the room.

"Since when does Cas have a middle name?" Sam asked more than a little confused about what he just witnessed.

"Since I knighted him." Dean shrugged, dumping the burnt food from the frying pan into the garbage can and placing it in the sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was kind of a long one, wasn't it?!
> 
> For those of you who are curious, Sam's middle name is Joel. And no,they don't actually have middle names, I did a lot of research before I wrote this. It was fun to make some up. Yes, Dean did almost say "Castiel Ethan Winchester". Maybe later on in the series...?
> 
> CC


	4. On the Bad Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Chloe, because she was feeling bummed out after the season 9 finale and asked for fluffy fics to make her feel better.

There were some days where it was simply too much.

These were the days where Dean would linger a little while longer in bed. His eyes would open from a night of sleep, but they would be distant. Their usual jade coloring dimming to a greyer shade. He would still force his usual smile across his coffee mug, but his eyes wouldn't crinkle in the corners, his chuckle sounding hollower. These were the days where he would stare into space, often times reading and re-reading paragraphs in news paper articles and ancient texts, unable to retain the information. Eventually he would give up and excuse himself, pull on his ancient leather coat, and go for a walk. 

Sam and Cas would share a knowing look from across the room as the door to the bunker clanged shut. Cas would read the rest of his chapter and go off into his and Dean's shared bedroom, layering up a chunky sweater over a long sleeve and pulling his coat on over that—he hated the cold. He would pull on his well-worn boots, tie the frayed laces and pull on his mittens, smiling fondly once reminded of the day Dean came home with them. He would mumble something to Sam on his way out and trudge through the snow, knowing exactly where to find his moody hunter. 

The air was cold enough it was hard to breathe. But Dean didn't mind much. On days like this, it was like he was under water. Nothing could quite break the veil. Cas or Sam would say something to him and it was like it was a delayed reaction. Even his own words seemed strange and muffled to him. So he simply wouldn't talk. He'd keep to himself, ride it out and wait until it was an acceptable time to go to sleep. Usually in the morning he would wake up feeling alive again. 

But for now, it sucked. 

He inhaled the crisp winter air, watching the steam rise from his nostrils in tendrils. He toed the snow under his boots absently, his mind wandering. The problem wasn't that he felt too much on days like today. The problem was, on these all too frequent occasions, he didn't feel anything at all. He didn't feel happy when he woke up next to Cas in their warm bed. He didn't feel sad when the memories of everyone he'd lost came rushing back in the shower. He didn't feel annoyed when Sam plucked a piece of toast off his plate at breakfast. He didn't feel angry when he realized it was going to be one of those days. He wanted desperately to feel all of these things, but the years had taken their toll. And now, at 40-years of age, he was reduced to a mindless zombie a day or two out of the month—and he couldn't even feel as pissed about that as he knew he should be. 

Familiar footsteps crunched in the snow behind him, and Dean let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. A mittened hand found it's way into Dean's gloved one, and they started walking. They walked through the trails close to the bunker in a comfortable silence. Cas knew that Dean didn't have anything to say, but also knew he didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. Not really. So Cas did what he did best; loved Dean. He was present. He was patient. He didn't complain about the cold (although he really wanted to), he didn't try to pry information from Dean (although he wanted that quite a bit, too). He simply was. And that's one of the many reasons why Dean appreciated him. 

Eventually they would make their way back into the bunker. Sam would be gone, somehow knowing when they would be back and that they would want their space. Cas would walk Dean over to the couch and sit him down, wrapping him up in a blanket after removing his coat and boots and shuffle off to the kitchen, returning with mugs of hot chocolate and bowls of soup a few minutes later. This time he even made grilled cheese. He would flip on the TV and hand Dean the remote. They would eat in silence. Once finished, Cas took the dishes to the kitchen and snuggled back up under the blanket with his hunter, resting his head on Dean's shoulder, tangling his fingers with Dean's.   
Cas knew that Dean wouldn't listen to the words he spoke, so he settled for speaking with his actions. He would place gentle, barely-there kisses all over Dean's body. His shoulders. His neck. His hands. His ears. He would hold his hand tightly and vow never to let go. He'd run his hands up and down Dean's arms, his nimble fingers stroking Dean's amber hair. Each and every time he did this, he would scream as loudly as he could in his head: “I love you” “You are good” “You are worth it” “You are everything”, but not a single word would be shared between them. 

Just when Cas was thinking that this would be the time when he broke first, Dean shut off the TV. He huffed a sigh that broke Cas' heart, and pushed off from the couch, heading to their room, dragging Cas by the hand with him. They did their normal bed-time thing. Brushed teeth, washed faces, changed. Dean always got into bed first, although Cas was always close behind, snuggling up as close as he could. Dean would lean over and flip the switch next to the headboard, casting them into the dark. He would lay back down, and Cas would find his usual spot, head resting on his hunter's chest, arm tucked around his waist. They would lay in silence, listening to each other breathe, allowing their eyes to adjust to the inky darkness.

“I love you, Dean.” Cas would say quietly, looking up at his hunter fiercely. “You know that, right?”

And that's when the tears would start. 

By no means was it “ugly crying”, in any sense of the word. In fact, it didn't really seem like crying at all. But Castiel would look to Dean after proclaiming his love and he would be met with a look of utter disbelief. Tears would be resting in those forest-green eyes that were dulled by an emptiness that Cas wished would go away. And there was always a question amongst the tears. 

How could you possibly love me?

So Cas would show him, because Dean was a Winchester, and would never listen. But Castiel was an angel, made of cosmic energy and galaxies, sewn together with time itself and infinite wisdom. And Castiel had learned how to feel emotions because of his hunter, and dammit all if he wasn't going to share them. 

He would kiss every inch of his hunter, kiss away the tears spilling down his cheeks, all the while, chanting his mantra, “You are good. You are worth it. You are everything. I love you.” 

He would hold him tightly, anchoring Dean to himself, carding through his hair. You re good. You are worth it. You are everything. I love you. 

The former angel would do everything in his power to piece the man he loved back together, suture his wounds with proclamations and the truth. For too long, Dean Winchester had simply bound his wounds, leaving them to deepen and fester. Castiel was on a mission to heal them entirely. You are good. You are worth it. You are everything. I love you. 

Finally, the tears would dry. Dean would slip into rest, his body exhausted, his mind even more so. Cas would still have him folded up into his arms, murmuring his mantra into Dean's hair, stroking his back, his hair, his arms, until finally, he too would drift to sleep.   
In the morning, Cas would wake to a warm press of lips to his. He would open his eyes to Dean leaning over him, smiling a real smile, the one that melted Cas' heart and sent shivers from his head to his toes. 

“I love you too, Cas.” 

And they would kiss again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I may have actually made it worse.


	5. Recipe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas surprises Dean with a treat.

"Whatchya got there, man?" Dean asks upon entering the kitchen. It smells good, whatever it is.   
Cas is bent over the oven, fishing out the confection, still clad in his signature suit and tie. Dean chuckles to himself at the stuffy awkwardness that is just Cas. The sound catches in his throat when the other man turns around, a delicious looking pie wrapped up in the oven mitts Dean didn't even know they had.   
"I made this for you." Cas says quietly before moving past Dean to set it on the table to cool.   
"I didn't know you could cook." Dean stammers, still not entirely sure he's grasping the concept that someone did something nice for him. Maybe he'll have Sammy draw him a diagram.   
"I..." Cas trails off and turns away, and Dean thinks he sees the hint of a blush on his neck. "I had some assistance from your mother." He utters, barely over a whisper.   
Dean freezes, his blood suddenly turning icy like it does every time someone mentions mom, his heart panging. "Mom...?" He chokes out.   
Cas nods and looks down at his feet, swallowing before he meets dean's eyes.   
"The last time I sent you back, I had the presence of mind to..." He falters, suddenly not as sure in his attempt at an affectionate display. "Ask her for her recipe."   
Dean rubs his hand over his mouth, looking between Cas and the pie cooling on the table. He feels like his brain is short circuiting. Last time they went to see his mom and dad, the apocalypse was starting, and it took so much of Cas' angel juice to send them back, they hooked him up with a a honeymoon suit to recover. He'd never seen Cas so bad. And through all that, despite every damn demented thing that was going on, Cas remembered to ask his mom for a pie recipe?   
"I'm sorry, Dean." Cas started, grabbing the pie off the table to take it to the trash. He wished he hadn't done this. It obviously upset Dean more than anything. "I just thought you might appreciate--"   
In two strides, Dean was across the kitchen, invading the other man's personal space, a hand fisted in the lapel of his coat. For a moment, Castiel thought Dean might strike him. But when he looked up into those Jade green eyes, he saw no malice. Reflected back to him was adoration. Longing. Love.   
Dean reaches a steady hand out to fiddle with the other man's tie, his eyes sparkling with the hint of mischief, the smirk that Cas has come to adore playing on his lips.   
"Can I kiss the cook?" Dean practically growls, before crashing their lips together by tugging on his tie.


	6. Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while.

Dean Winchester was a man's man, which meant that he never cried.   
He didn't cry the day Sam married Sarah from all those years ago in a pretty old Church with stained glass windows.  
He didn't cry the day he married Cas in an old corn field on a warm day in August.   
He didn't cry the first time he held his daughter, whose eyes were blue like his husband's.   
He didn't even tear up when his baby girl graduated from college and wound up marrying a kid from California a year later on the beach.   
He was a man's man and he never cried.   
Not even when his partner took his last breath and slipped away in the middle of the night in mid-October.   
But several months later, he found himself forty years younger and staring into intense blue eyes, sparkling with affection. He reached out and brushed Cas' lips with his thumb, checking to make sure this was real, it wasn't another dream like so many before.   
"You're home." Cas murmured simply, leaning in to close the gap between their lips.   
And if a few tears slipped past his eyelashes, he knew Cas would keep his secret.


End file.
